


Aftermath

by honeynabisco



Category: Dracula - Bram Stoker
Genre: A kind of continuation on Parlay, All of the COL are there but only mentioned, At this point all of my fics likely occur in the same universe/narrative, M/M, Many apologies, Mentions of Chloral use, Some blood and violence but not too gross, Werewolf Quincey because why not, Which I forgot to warn about, no one dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:07:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29425746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeynabisco/pseuds/honeynabisco
Summary: "The ashes- get them- don't forget the ashes."
Relationships: Count Dracula/Abraham Van Helsing, Quincey Morris/John Seward
Comments: 5
Kudos: 11





	Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> I promise this one gets sweet, but the beginning is a little bitter.

It was predictable that Morris would be the one to finish it. Mr Harker also deserved recognition, though Van Helsing was not thinking so much of him, who completed the finishing work of decapitation. What he had felt was the plunging of that knife into his breast. He hadn't been watching at the time, his attention scattered between the chaos of the chase which was not truly distinguishable from the fight as both had seemed to last only seconds. He had briefly refocused his attention on Mrs Harker, ensuring that she had not moved from where he last knew her to be and that she was quite safe, but as soon as he had taken his eyes from the fight, he felt something impact him deeply enough in his chest as to steal away his breath. He knew instinctively what the pain was, but looked over to confirm it, finding Morris standing over the opened coffin with his shoulders hunched and his knife deeply embedded into something inside the box. It was the sight more than the sensation that made the professor hiss in pain and furious indignation.

Wasn't this what he had wanted?

He knew that it wasn't truly, despite what he had told himself and others. Some not insubstantial part of him had wanted Morris to fail, had wanted all of them to fail and be captured, and it aggrieved him terribly that the rational side of him that had insisted otherwise had won. He hadn't been so prepared to lose something like the Count as he should have been, but he didn't understand why. It had been the plan from the start, and frankly he had lost nothing that was ever his so much as he had lost a potential that never came to be fulfilled. But nothing of this processed in the moment. Van Helsing was not so coherent as to analyze his own thoughts and primal emotions, but could only feel them viscerally. All he knew at the time was that he was overflowing with some boiling hatred that was so misplaced and so enduring. He would feel guilt for this for the rest of his life, for he would never be able to completely shed some strange resentment he harbored towards a man who truly only did what was necessary- who had done what Van Helsing had wanted him to.

When Morris hit the ground, Van Helsing bristled with animalistic satisfaction. He was only able to fight past his instinctual reactions at the sound of Seward, his student and friend, crying out in horror. 

Seward reached Morris first, Harker still preoccupied with ensuring the Count was dead and the Count's men dissipating quickly upon the realization that their employer was now gone. Mrs Harker took Van Helsing by the arm and began running, no longer constrained by the circle he had drawn around her. Strangely, Van Helsing did not want to come closer. He felt there was nothing left for him there, but he ran with her despite this. 

By the time that he neared the scene, Seward was already knelt beside Morris, pressing firm against his side which was slowly being overtaken by red. The young doctor looked frantic and furious, but Morris equally so as he opened his mouth to speak. In doing so he revealed two sets of canines, one upper, one lower, clenched together as he said, "the ashes- get them- don't forget the ashes."

Seward looked pointedly to Mr Harker who needed no further instruction. He gathered up the ashes as well as he could into a sack left behind in the wagon while the others made room for Van Helsing to join Seward in evaluating the damage Morris had sustained. Seward was clearly and visibly panicked, realizing that he was empty handed and useless to do anything but press firm against his partner's side. Van Helsing was not so concerned.

Van Helsing had sighted the sharpened canines - not fangs - that accentuated Morris' jaw. He looked pained, and certainly he was, but he would not die. Van Helsing said as much, neutrally as he could manage only to control his grief but could not succeed in constructing any sympathy. Morris met his glare with one of his own, displeased with being potentially exposed. Seward looked up as his expression warped into a confliction of fear and anger. He couldn't understand why his mentor wasn't helping him. Mrs Harker kneeled by Morris' other side and took his hand.

Van Helsing shook his head. He should be handling himself better than this. He tried again, "I tell you that he will live. He will need rest and he will likely lose consciousness, but you must trust me, friend John, when I say to you that he will wake up."

It was better, but by Seward's frustrated silence, he knew it still wasn't enough. 

With a few soft spoken words of comfort and reassurance given to Mrs Harker and Seward, Morris did lose consciousness as predicted. This caused some panic among the two holding him, but this Van Helsing could handle. He did not let them dwell on their panic and enlisted Mr Harker to assist in lifting their fallen friend to transport him to one of the remaining carriages. Once every member of their party was secured and on their way to return to the nearest inn, Van Helsing looked back towards the wreckage they were leaving behind. All that he had ever seen of the end was a box of dust. 

Seward's panic began to fade into a still very palpable anxiety as he realized that Morris' wound had stopped bleeding and, miraculously, he seemed truly to be only sleeping and not dying. He seemed impossibly stable.

He kept Morris still in his arms as he looked to Van Helsing, confused and overwhelmed by his nerves so that his anxiety manifested in frustrated rage, "how did you know this? He should be dead- what is happening?"

Van Helsing was distracted and certainly not feeling particularly stable enough to offer support to anyone else. He attempted regardless, "I cannot say, friend John, other than to say that he will be fine. You must ask him yourself when you are able."

"Don't assume that I am oblivious to his teeth-"

"No, no," Van Helsing interrupted, low and melancholic, "do not get ahead of yourself. Make no such assumptions, but have patience."

Frustrated, Seward dismissed Van Helsing and receded into himself, focusing only on Morris' breathing. 

The crew came to an inn which received them with great hesitation on account of their dirt and blood stained personages, but they were soon enough given access to three rooms. At first, all six pressed themselves into a single small room to crowd around the still unconscious Morris. It was in part for their worrying about him, but in larger part it was due to each member's disinterest in being alone after so gruesome of an ordeal. Only Van Helsing was interested in solitude, but he did not give in to his desire to self isolate. 

Mrs Harker was interested in Morris' condition only as far as to ensure that he was living and expected to recover. She, though sharper than perhaps any other member of their crew, was insufficiently educated in medical sciences to be aware of the severity of Morris' wound. She had no means of knowing precisely how fatal that stab to the flank ought to have been. Mr Harker seemed too distracted to think of much at all in regard to the matter, or at the very least he was too drained to voice any thoughts. Likely, he knew as little as his wife or less. Godalming was left in a similar state of shock. They all seemed merely interested in being near to the others in silence and stability so that they may finally process their traumas. They were supposed to be shared traumas, and largely they were. 

Van Helsing felt disconnected.

Mourning looked different among the group. Mrs Harker seemed exhausted and certainly melancholy to a degree, but also content with the completion of a story. Mr Harker was perceptive enough to adhere to the mood of the room, sullen and thoughtful, but his satisfaction was still apparent. To him, the story was completed as it was for his wife, but the ending was even sweeter than it was for the others. Mrs Harker's capacity for empathy still demanded her pity. Godalming seemed more hollow than ever before as a man who had lost everything and no longer had even a vengeance left to compel him. Seward was ever frustrated, determined that the story was not in fact completed until every detail was inspected and fully understood. The waiting for a conclusion had not ended for him and the strain of it stressed his nerves. Van Helsing was uncertain, sure only that his emotions were unpleasant things to ponder after and so he deflected them through a close focus on the emotions of others. It would be interesting to know where Morris stood, if he were awake enough to be interpreted. 

The Harkers eventually retired to a room of their own, followed soon by Godalming, but the doctors remained to see to Morris when he woke. When the night had grown late enough to be deemed morning, Seward began to pace restlessly, his aggravation beginning to seep into the floorboards he worked a trench into. It grated on Van Helsing's own nerves until he, against his normal judgement, suggested Seward indulge chloral for one night more. Soon, Seward was asleep with his arms folded to support his head on the bed Morris slept in. Finally, Van Helsing was alone.

He was surprised by how little dwelling in his own thoughts suited him. 

Morris woke up eventually, late in the night. He was disoriented for only a very brief few seconds and once he had begun to remember what had happened, he sighed deeply, almost in resignation. Idly he began carding his fingers through Seward's hair. He was certainly aware of Van Helsing seated at his opposite side, but he seemed unconcerned with the presence. Van Helsing didn't know what to make of Morris' apparent comfort in his company. He didn't know that he wanted very much to speak with him and so he said nothing, trapped between craving isolation and wishing to avoid the wandering thoughts that solitude brought. 

Morris spoke first after several moments, "so the doctors are still here… and so am I, for that matter. You've exposed me professor, yet we're all still here. I suppose we've both been exposed then?"

"Only to each other, my friend," Van Helsing said blandly.

"Explains why  _ my _ doctor is here still then," Morris sounded only very slightly bitter. He lifted his shirt to inspect the space where his wound should be, only to find the flesh unmarked, as if he had never been wounded. He sighed again, "fancy trick, ain't it?"

"I believe well that I have been exposed to you," Van Helsing strangely ignored him despite the very clear evidence of lycanthropy, which he had never before had the opprotunity to observe so directly. "But will you explain to me where precisely I have faulted?"

"Faulted? No, I don't suppose you made any sort of error. Not one you could control, at least. Men like that are rather good at that sort of thing. I don't fault you for falling, though I am surprised that he could catch even you, professor. I'll admit, I don't quite know how he did it."

"And I do not know how you ever discovered that he might have," Van Helsing snapped, feeling somewhat invaded upon. 

"Beasts tend to know each other," Morris said unhelpfully, "but I suppose I don't need to know anything more than the fact that you chose us at the end. I don't even need to know if you wanted to… if you regret it now. You care about Jack, you've found children in Art and the Harkers and… I suppose that's all that I care about."

Van Helsing cared for Morris too, but would not correct his omission from the list. For all that he cared for the young American, he harbored a vile resentment for him all the same. He resented that Morris did exactly what he was supposed to do, what he had wanted him to do.

Morris continued, suddenly much less interested in himself, Van Helsing, or the relationship between them, "and the rest are well? Jack and all the others?"

"All are well, my friend. You may rest knowing that you have done well by them."

"But?" Morris pressed and for a brief moment Van Helsing didn't know what for.

"But friend John is irate."

Morris laughed gently and pushed back Seward's hair to press his palm to the doctor's cheek, "it's only his nerves, you must know better than anyone. Fear makes him ornery. And he is rather out of it, isn't he? Chloral, I take it. I've been trying to convince him to come off it, you know."

"Perhaps I will be with you on this, but tonight I needed him asleep," Van Helsing said.

"He'd surely listen to us both. And you have told him nothing? Oh, how will I ever explain such a thing to a man like him…"

"Simply… and patiently, perhaps more crucially. He was fixated on your teeth. I assured him that his immediate assumption was wrong."

"Ah, that is something, I suppose. And the fact that he is here after seeing such a thing is something else. And you being here… you dissuading the others from fearing me… my, isn't that all just something? You'll pardon me, professor, I am still rather drained from that stabbing."

Van Helsing barked a humorless laugh, "of course I pardon you. Have you not pardoned much worse of me?"

"As I said, professor, beasts tend to know one another. They pardon each other too… I pardoned the Count even. Perhaps more than I ought to have… Lord, what a waste that all was."

A waste. Van Helsing thought of that silently and for a long time. He imagined he would spend the rest of his life thinking about that very thought. What a waste it all was. Morris snapped his thoughts back in order by adding, "the ashes were dealt with?"

No, Van Helsing realized, they were not. They were still in the sack. He paused for only as long as it took him to find his tongue amidst the shock of such a revelation, "they have been collected."

"But not dispersed?" Morris pressed and Van Helsing conceded that such was so. Morris frowned, deep and serious as he thought of something very carefully. Slowly and in a low tone, he said, "you ought to get on that, professor. There's a stream nearby, is there not?"

There was, but Van Helsing was not thinking of such practicalities. He was thinking that it made very little sense for Morris to suggest he be the one to deal with the Count's remains. Was this another test? If it was, it did not seem quite the same as the last. It made Van Helsing's head throb regardless.  _ I failed your last exam. Do you think I could pass this one? _ He thought it was unlikely that Morris was expecting him to. What was he doing then, saying these things, if not to test him?

"Yes," Van Helsing said slowly, "I ought to do that. You will be fine here with friend John?"

Morris relaxed strangely against the pillows that propped him up. He nodded and gave a small grin, "I'll keep an eye on the doctor, professor. No need to worry."

Van Helsing nodded and stood. Looking down at Morris who laid lax against the mattress as he languidly carded his finger through his dearest pupil's hair, Van Helsing was overcome with a painful affection. In spite of every convoluted and vile emotion that the entire drama had inspired, he loved these children still. He loved them so terribly that he would rip parts of himself out and destroy them if need be. In that moment, his love for them overwhelmed him and he knew that he could kill the Count, a part of his heart, if it meant that he could save the rest of it.

Van Helsing bent forward and kissed the crown of Morris' head as he rested his hand on the top of Seward's. He then straightened, turned, and left before he could see Morris' shocked expression or hear any of his questions.

Mr Harker had the ashes still and was more than willing to hand them over to Van Helsing if it meant getting them out of his room and away from his wife. He had no reason to think anything of Van Helsing's request for them aside from that he intended to properly dispose of them. 

  
  
  


On the banks of the river stood a solitary tree, leafless and blanketed in snow. Possibly it was dead and would never again grow leaves when the season changed. Possibly it wasn't and it would. It was the last left of it's kind in that area. The morning had not much progressed and the sun was still a few hours from rising so that the night was beginning to reach it's very lowest temperatures just before the earth was warmed again by light. The branches of the tree, heavied and drooping under layers of snow, cast even darker shadows from the moonlight over Van Helsing who stood with an ashwood stake in his hand. He threw the sack to the ground before the trunk of the maybe-living tree. Upon impact, the ashes spilled from the sack and onto the snow, a harsh contrast of nearly black grey above white. He didn't know if it would take very long or if it would even happen at all. For all that he knew it could have taken years, but he felt in his chest that it would take only seconds. 

The ashes began to pull towards some center, swirling together as if each particle was magnetized by every other. In the shadows of night, the steps were not easily discerned, but the product was the same. Curled up in the snow laid the Count, weak and faced down. His hair was white, blending into the background snow as he always seemed to do so well. He always faded in and out of categories; never stationary; never solid. So undefinable he was, and so unfathomable. He was in pain, it was clear to see by his claws clutching desperately into the snow beneath him and it hurt Van Helsing the same to witness such agony. 

He stepped forward and kneeled by the Count's side, turning him harshly onto his back by yanking at his shoulder. The Count hissed and strained against the treatment until he saw the point of the stake press against his breast. His gaze followed it up to Van Helsing's hand, up his arm, and landed on his face. Something in the Count's expression softened, as though seeing Van Helsing brought him relief of some kind. It frustrated Van Helsing that he could look so pleased in so dreadful a moment.

"Listen to me, you wretched, vile creature," Van Helsing said in a ragged, painful tone, "you must change. You will change or I will kill you here and I will do it right this time. I do not want to, but I can- do not make me."

"My professor, my beloved little doctor," the Count spoke the words as though there was no moisture left in the whole of him, making them sound like dust itself. He sounded, in spite of his dry and cracked voice, nearly elated at the sight of Van Helsing. He sobered when he felt the point of the wood press just a bit firmer against his breast, "you believe that I could?"

Van Helsing shook his head, "I do not know- do not care. I tell you that you must or I will kill you."

The Count raised a clawed hand up to cup Van Helsing's face as if he were holding an object of reverence. The skin on it and his face was still in the process of reformation, leaving patches of ashy grey. He was in a much different state than when they last met. He was now weak, wounded, and powerless. His only hope rested in the empathy of others, but he looked far from displeased so long as his eyes remained on Van Helsing's. Perhaps he was merely too injured to comprehend. Perhaps something of him was genuine.

"Whatever you say, my professor. I am at your mercy."

**Author's Note:**

> Is it sensical? No. Is everyone in character? Absolutely not. It is what I would want in an adaptation? Probably not. Is it Valentine's Day and the kind of romance that I felt like writing? Sure. I had fun.
> 
> Something, something, Polidori and moonlight... I cannot recall how the moonlight played into everything...


End file.
